


Sleeperhold

by Argyle



Category: A Separate Peace
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-06-30
Updated: 2004-06-30
Packaged: 2019-10-25 17:16:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17729432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Argyle/pseuds/Argyle
Summary: A continuation of the book's "night on the beach" scene.





	Sleeperhold

_How can I fight, when we're on the same side  
How can I fight beside you_

Breathing in, I relished the ocean air as it fell across my tongue. Tendrils of salt merged with the faded sunshine of a hundred days passed from my memory, at once saccharine and sharp. It was a different sort of breeze than those I had known at Devon. Cooler, perhaps; the air was gilded by the distance of the school and the expanse of the sea as it reflected the scarlet sweep of the sunset. It was hung with the greens and blues of the water and laced by the pale crash of the waves against the beach, a scene that was permanently mirrored within Finny’s eyes as he lay beside me on the dune.

From the corner of my eye, I watched him. My gaze paused on the even movement of his chest with each breath, his muscles slim and taut beneath the light cotton of his shirt. His lips were still as his form was draped by shadows.

Swallowing roughly, I remembered his earlier confession of friendship, a clear and honest emotion borne by the idle regularity of our chatter. I shuddered, resting my hand against my heart, and fought the urge to reach out to him. Finny now smiled as though in answer to my thoughts, the crease of his mouth curving softly with his invitation.

“Tell me something, Gene,” his voice suddenly broke in, hushed by the green haze of the ocean before us and the clamoring of gulls across the darkened stretch of the jetty. He shifted beside me, cradling his head with his hands and stretching his legs against the woolen folds of the blanket.

I hesitated. “Something?”

“Oh, you know,” Finny laughed shortly, his eyes gleaming and sweeping over me as the encroaching tide. “Anything.”

“Well...”

“God, Gene.” Finny shook his head as he looked away from me. He held a hand aloft, spreading his long, tanned fingers as though to touch the sky. “You must have something to say,” he said at last.

“It’s been a good day.”

“Has it?”

I nodded, knitting my brow for an instant as I considered my words. The breeze tugged at my cheeks, spreading the hair from my brow and stirring the sand and dune grasses that lay sprawled around us. Fractured, evening light now passed into darkness, unveiling the canvas of stars and the distant flickering of buoys before us. “Yeah.”

“I knew this would be an ideal day for our escape,” he chuckled. “The summer is passing.”

“Well, yes.” I nodded again, my mouth spreading into a grin. “And I suppose you would expect it to wait for you until you were finished with it, then?”

“Naturally, it would be a _great_ personal favor,” he said, pausing as the tip his tongue darted in a flash across his lips. “I mean it, though, Gene. There must be something else to it.”

“To what?”

Finny’s eyes widened for a moment, his brows arching as he began again, his voice almost regretful. “Time. There’s a different sort of texture to it than there used to be. You can feel it, maybe, on the back of your neck and on the tips of your fingers. It’s faster.”

“What?” I asked again, pushing myself forward with my elbows. Out of instinct, I searched for the bluff in his questioning, the inclination of his chin, the note of humor and the sense of marvel that Finny had always held for his life. I searched for some key that would point to insincerity.

There was none to be found. In what was perhaps the best of all possible worlds, the rug was now being pulled from beneath our feet, and with all of my longing, I wasn’t able to fight it.

I moved my gaze from the ocean toward him, though he remained silent. He stirred uneasily beside me, tilting his head as though to hear a distant sound, his eyes gently drooping closed with the weight of the day’s efforts. I felt his hand against my own, wordlessly imploring as our fingers entwined. For a moment, I was convinced that there was time caught within this simple gesture, a pulse refined into its purest form and strung with the days that were to follow. Salt and worry seemed to be pushed aside with a sweep of his hands, and then matched by the breath that hung between us.

_The next morning I saw dawn for the first time._


End file.
